


The It Girl - Alastair - Part Two

by MrMMitrevski



Series: The It Girl [1]
Category: Pretty Little Liars, The Perks of Being a Wallflower - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMMitrevski/pseuds/MrMMitrevski
Summary: Forrest Hill, Pennsylvania is famous for Jiji’s milkshakes, the Mighty Forrest Wolves and the landmark that gives it its name: The Forrest Hill.What families don’t remember – or pretend to forget – is that it is also the home to a dark, terrible secret: the case of the missing girl in the summer of '97. When torches stop shining and cars start driving smoothly down highways again, the town accepts she is gone.Life goes on – the victim’s classmates cry wolf all summer, each knowing – or claiming – they know where she is. It isn’t until an anonymous tip alerts the local Sherriff’s department three months after the marked disappearance, that the authorities find a mouth hung open, accompanied with empty eye-sockets and a light buzzing sound, coming from somewhere inside the pretty rotten corpse…





	The It Girl - Alastair - Part Two

**Author's Note:**

> 'The It Girl' is a coming of age, thriller/suspense epistolary novel that is set out in five parts, during the years of 1996-1998. Each part explores a different character, a different theme and perhaps most importantly, a different emotion. Part one explores denial, part two is anger, three is guilt/bargaining, four is depression and finally, part five offers acceptance. Together the parts form the stages of grief - in this case, the grief surrounding the missing case of 'the it girl', Lima Skylar. This extract is part two of the novel and showcases Alastair's story and his view on the disappearance of the infamous 'It Girl'.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART TWO - Alastair

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September 22nd, 1997

To my Darling,

I don’t know how to say it because it’s not black and white and yet I want it to be.  I think it is black and it’s also white and that’s what makes my heart break and shatter at the disillusion I have brought on myself. I am aware of many things in my life right now. Many things are hazy and unclear, like a dirty camera lens. For the first time in a while, I am not okay.

            Lima is gone. Gone for good I mean. I think I was happy when I heard that she went missing. Serves her right for doing what she did to me. But then as the weeks went on, I started to have serious doubts and I wanted to start looking for her myself. I did want to look, honest. I just didn’t know where to start. Where would she go? Surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay in town. No. If Lima wanted to hide, she knew how to keep herself hidden. I always just thought she was sick of everyone. I don’t blame her. That girl went through a lot in the last year. She changed heaps too.

They found her body out near the outskirts of town, in The Forrest Hill. I really don’t know how to feel about that. It means she was here the whole time. And I feel angry with myself. If I’m honest, I thought she was my first love, I really did, and I felt as though she was someone I could trust.

You know that person you don’t see as often, but every time you do it’s perfect and you feel your body ignite with excitement? It’s like they are filling you with passion and sincerity and you tell yourself it’s like they never left. If I could explain it in any way, that would be how I felt about Lima Skylar.

But I’m angry with her and I don’t know why. I mean, I think I know why. I’m just mad and I don’t want to admit it to myself because I know it’s true. I guess I’m just shocked at the whole nightmare.

When Mrs Needle sat on the edge of her desk at the front of the class, reading a script in her monotonous voice, probably constructed by Mr Rutherford, I felt myself hit a wall.

Lima was murdered, so when she told us I was extremely mad at her, furious that she would have the indecency to mention her to me. As if she had the right to say her name to me. I told Mrs. Needle no; Lima is missing, that she shouldn’t make jokes about something as serious as death.

Lima’s disappearance shook the whole of Forrest Hill. You could feel how deeply it affected us. All of us. Nothing like that happens here, and yet, it did.

I don’t know how she died and I wish I did. She was missing for three months and when I went home the day Mrs Needle told us the truth, I heard on the news that a girl’s body had been found. I remember thinking, or hoping, that it wouldn’t be her. Even though the description on the news matched her exactly. Even though they mentioned her name, I still didn’t believe it.

I felt upset when they found her. When she went missing I could pretend to myself. Lie that she was somewhere doing something Lima would likely to be doing. I liked to think she was happy, shopping probably; in some big mall on the other side of the country, that Forrest Hill’s little boutique shops could never compete with. That way I couldn’t feel bad because I could never prove she wasn’t. Not even to myself.

I hope it is going to be as easier to find out who did it. I hope it is. I wish they got punished. Forrest Hill has suffered enough. Including me.

I was beginning to get sick of seeing the “Missing Girl” signs all over town. Near the Diner, the Bus Stop, even at school.

“HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? LAST SEEN WEDNESDAY JUNE 25TH, 1997.”

It annoys me that someone bothered to put something up like that. I mean, Forrest Hill is a pretty small town. If anyone saw her, believe me, we’d all know about it. It was probably Lima’s mother who put the signs up. I heard she was really torn when she found out Lima didn’t come home the Sunday evening she disappeared.

            She asked me to come over that night. Lima I mean. I was preoccupied at home. Dad hit Mom again and I didn’t want to leave Mom alone with him. Not after what happened last time. So I told Lima I couldn’t see her and I never spoke to her again.

            And it’s odd, is it not? How after all that has been going on I don’t miss her as much as I did the first day I found out she was missing? Is that weird? Shouldn’t my body ache at the idea of what was done to her? How it happened right under my nose? Everything just feels like a broken collage. School, the whole ordeal with Lima, my life in general.

And the series of photos, they are unclear to the unfamiliar, but at the same time, they are crystal to the familiar, to me. I feel like I’ve always known but I’ve just been in denial. Clouded by a burning rage.

Why has it taken three months to find her? Why did she have to die? Why her? She was perfect and she didn’t mean half the things that she said. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Not my sweet Lima.

But these photos, they aren’t always clear. Not even to me. It’s not possible for them to be, and sometimes I wish they could be.

The smiles I see all around town are nothing but fake. They don’t look it but I think they are. I can see it in the eyes. I know they are. Like a toy in Santa’s workshop, they were designed to certain specifications. Like a teddy bear, propped against its other stuffed friends on a wall, in Santa’s North Pole.

And although the intimacy of the photos portrays a message, they hold an aroma, an aroma of falsification. A dependency. For a want. A need. A cry for help?

            A lie. It was all a lie. A sham. Because while the photos were being put up, Lima was, in fact, rotting away, several feet below us, in the cold, damp earth.

            A picture may very well be defined as capturing or stealing a moment of time. It’s the only way time can be stolen you know. The only way memories can be stored without the obligatory feeling of criminality.

I hope the photo of a dead girl gave some clarity to the people of Forrest Hill. I hope it gave them hope. I wish they never gave up for even one second or doubted themselves on what they believed happened to Lima, or where she went. Because I know from the first photo I saw on the light pole outside my house, I know I did.

So that’s what I mean when I say it’s all black and white because it isn’t. It really isn’t, but it should be.

I may or may not write again.

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

September 25th, 1997 

To my Darling,

            I wish I didn’t have to go back to school. I know, who does? And not because of the workload this year has brought, but because I barely have friends anymore. I hardly speak to Alec anymore. Actually, I don’t speak to him at all if I’m honest with you. I don’t remember when we stopped talking, but I’m sure it was over the break. I ditched everyone and you have to believe me because I have my reasons, but I don’t want to get into that as it makes me really frustrated. As you can probably assume, it had a lot to do with Lima.

            I wish there was a good reason for me not wanting to go back. Lima’s body has been found so I don’t even have the excuse of that. I wonder if the school will have a commemorative assembly in her memory? Maybe I can persuade Mr Rutherford to do something for my Lima, a ceremony maybe?

            Mom took the liberty of buying my books and new things. I didn’t leave the house much over break you know. I cried so much and I just kept thinking why? Why? Why? Why?

            I started getting angry at things when reality hit me. Things and people. Because it was the only way I could let all my feelings out. That and going to see The Express.

            I thought it was my entire fault you know. Her disappearance. But it’s not. It can’t be. But what if what happened between us led to that? I just wish I had something nicer to say to her as my last words, other than “No.” I didn’t even tell her why I wouldn’t go see her on Sunday, nothing about Dad hitting Mom or about wanting some time to myself. So if I’m completely honest, I wanted to be blunt with her. I wanted Lima to feel like I didn’t want to see her, because truthfully, I really didn’t want to see Lima, ever again.

            I guess no one knows when will be the last time they see someone. I think Lima’s disappearance definitely opened my eyes a lot wider. I like to think a lot has changed since then, including me.     

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

P.S. Tonight would have marked three-months since she was reported missing.

 

September 29th, 2017

To my Darling,

            The first period today was English. I really didn’t feel like going, didn’t feel like it was worth my time. But Mom doesn’t want to see me wasting myself away, especially during my senior year. And if going to school will make Mom happy, then I can try at least.

            Lima left me in a mess and I really don’t like it. If they found her alive I’d shout at her and tell her she was an arrogantly self-centred, narcissistic girl. But I can’t, can I?

Ever since they announced Lima’s case breakthrough, everyone just stares at me, with great big eyes. Like they’re all on acid or something like that, their pupils: staring; watching tentatively, as though I’m about to draw the scissors from my pencil case and slit my wrists in front of them all, to watch. Like I’m a freaking suicidal maniac; a walking, human time bomb.

            I felt like telling them that that wasn’t me, that it was the old me. But of course, that would have been impractical. I tried to kill myself over the break you know, so who would believe me?

            Mr Robinson came into the room, and, after placing his briefcase on the desk at the front of the classroom; he addressed the class with a crestfallen voice, without his typical intriguing vivaciousness. He seemed annoyed and distracted; his face was something that looked a little over thirty years old. He was well on his way to middle age. His voice quivered and he didn’t look up as he unpacked his briefcase, adding items onto the desk, taking out with him a single black marker and a thick folder, possibly containing the notes for our lesson.

I never found out what the folder contained because he never used it. I mean, aren’t teachers meant to have a planned lesson, a strict set of guidelines to follow? Perhaps he didn’t need it? But why would he risk such a thing? Maybe the curriculum hadn’t changed since the previous year? No marker remover either. That worried me.

As though he had fought verbally with his wife the night before, his eyes were baggy and his voice sounding more and more croaky as he asked how all our weekends were.

He didn’t hold himself well. He had broad shoulders, but they looked like they wanted to slouch and fall to the ground.

He began reading the roll and I was just taking a pen out from my bag when he said the two words I had dreaded to hear the most.

“Skylar, Lima.”

I dropped my pen.

The air held the throats of twenty necks when he spoke, with iron hands – all of us were silent and it increased the intensity of the lesson to follow.

He began writing notes on the board, the upper line, and largest, reading eligible scribbles: the first text we would analyze for the term would be “To Kill a Mockingbird”, a book that I have read before. I think so anyway.

            I stared around the classroom idly. I remember feeling like doing something reckless, something I had done before. It was an urge and I wanted to satisfy it. I’m not suicidal if that’s what you’re thinking. Not anymore at least. I’m over all that now. So if that’s what you’re thinking, then you really don’t know me. I just love the rush, the feeling of closeness and secularity. Smelling the scent of death, the danger of it and the openness to greatness, its promises, and then getting away from it. Missing it. Does that make me weird? I think it does. There’s no way anyone else thinks how I do, and if they do, they’d probably belong in the loony bin.

            During summer break, in my spare time, I liked to walk to Forrest Hill Station. In the blazing heat and simply feel Lucifer burn into my skin. It was relaxing in an odd way. I liked how the hurt felt. How my skin seared. I always regretted it when my skin turned pink in the evening. When everything felt itchy.

Have you ever stubbed your toe on the corner of a chair? And then you feel a burning rage build up inside you, the itch on your back, the callous giggle that begins to escape your lips and you wish nothing more than to kick the same corner of that chair. To feel the same pain: One thousand fold. All because that bump was avoidable and something so little can bother you so much.

            I can’t stand waiting, maybe because I’m a little impatient? But aren’t we all a little bit impatient? Aren’t you?

Before you answer that, I want you to think about the last time you really had to wait for something. Was it at your hair appointment, or at the register of a supermarket? Was it in the car on a highway exit, or when you ran for a train and you missed it, so you had to wait for the next one?

You know your hair will eventually be cut, you know you will eventually be served on the next available register. You know the cars will eventually clear on the exit lane and you know there will be a second train coming. Probably soon. But we don’t want that because the idea of a delay is frightening to us. And why should we wait? Why should we have to compromise? 

And so just before we tick over the edge and kick the corner of the chair, or tell the hairdresser that they better hurry up because you need to go shopping, where you will tell the lady on the register to rush because you might miss your train, which, you inevitably do, you sit and reflect. And wonder what if I do act on this intrusive thought? What if I unleash my dark potential? I think it’s scary if you ask me. I think that’s where a lot of my aggression is coming from because even the smallest things like waiting make me angry. It’s frightening because it’s leaking for everyone to see.

A little of our “personal devil” I like to call it, finding its way into our conscious. Just for a split second that is. But that’s all we need. Not because we act on those pervasive thoughts, but because we are aware of them, and we bury them deep, deep below. Not because we are ashamed of them, for we have defence mechanisms set up that help us with that. No, it’s because these ideas scare us. What we are capable of. So we bury them in the unknown, where we hide all things that bother us. Where the bad things can’t hurt us, where all things can stay hidden.

            I would walk up the station ramp and stand under the advisory sign, on the yellow line, waiting.

            When the announcement on the speaker advised that the train would be approaching and that it would be wise and safe to stand back, I always stepped forward; the tips of my shoes barely touching the end of the platform and closed my eyes, waiting for The Express.

            There was something about the uncertainty; the wait, the fleeting moment before the train passed me, which made me reflect on how peaceful my life could be. No worries, no commitment, nothing. I didn’t even think about Lima. I couldn’t you know. I was too busy thinking about myself, and pure, delightful tranquillity. The sound of the tracks, of the train rushing towards me.

And I would close my eyes just before it reached me. For that is what adds to the sensation. Without doing that I would feel nothing.

For if your eyes are open, you leave to chance that you will take a step back. But by closing your eyes, you put yourself into the hands of the unknown. That, my friend, is living.

            And is not taking a chance the same as not living? For living in a world of order and routine is nothing to succumb to, other than a vegetable, laying still, waiting to be washed and chopped, ready for dinner at your end.

It’s like waiting around to be abducted and buried alive.

            The Express always arrives at 3:28 p.m. Always at 3:28 p.m. Always.

            With school finishing around about 3:00 p.m., I can never make it on time during the school term.

That is why I spent so many of my afternoons during the break around the station, waiting for The Express to rush past me. So that for a split second, a few fleeting, simple seconds I could forget all about Lima and about everything. 

One day it didn’t come and I had to walk home lonely. I really didn’t want to go home because I hadn’t received my rush yet. The Express had failed me once, and so I took to not expect it to come from then on. That way if it didn’t, I couldn’t be sad or angry. And if it did… well great! It’s a present from myself, to myself really. Which is kind of sad as well I guess?

Anything is better than the feeling of abandonment, of feeling alone.

Even when my claimed family and friends surround me I can feel alone. Sometimes that’s when I feel the worst. Because not one of them know what’s really going on with me. They don’t know because I don’t let them in. And that’s the way I like it.

It was hard to even leave home at the start.

Not only was I on strict suicide watch but eventually I didn’t want to leave home. I didn’t want to abandon my post. My sanction. My asylum provided me shelter and harbored me away from the prying eyes of my neighborhood, from the gazes of Lima.

            And what is home? Home is not an address or a room to call your own. Sometimes it’s where you feel at ease with your fears, your speculations about life and where answers are solved. In my case, home became Forrest Hill Station when Lima went missing.

            I told Mom that I would be spending my days with Alec and she believed me I think. At least until when the train serviceman, who’s Dad’s cousin, called her to tell her what I was up to.

            I can’t say exactly when the fascination with The Express began, but what I can say is that I was feeling extremely low. More than usual I mean.

It’s thanks to my lovely Lima that I started smoking. Thanks to her that I sat in Mr Robinson’s class wondering how we could just continue with school, as though we weren’t missing a piece of our puzzle.

I feel like my future is set in stone and unmovable, unbreakable, not without some greater power, not without a stronger force. It is because of Lima that I now feel different from everyone else. Secluded. Alone. Powerless, always envious that school finishes at 3:00 p.m. for me and not sooner.

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

October 9th, 1997

To my Darling,

So, Forrest High finally has their very own counsellor. His name is Colin Smith and he’s asked me to call him whatever I “fancy”, as long as it is “appropriate” of course. He has a strong English accent and I’ve never caught him at a time where he isn’t drinking, holding, or on his way to get some tea. Which, if you ask me, only strengthens his stereotype.

He keeps asking me funny questions and sometimes I simply sit and stare in his direction, but not at him. Does that make sense? I will stare at him for a good ten minutes possibly. No, definitely. I know this because he’s told me I’ve done it before, just staring, my mind wandering elsewhere. He will stare right back at me, sipping his tea, slowly, without saying a single word. The first time it happened he looked mildly interested. I asked him if it happens often, or just to me.

He told me it’s perfectly normal to daydream, as long as I wasn’t doing it forcefully.

I’ve noticed that after I break my, well, what should I call it, trance? After I’ve broken my trance, it takes another minute to remember where I am; to recapture the environmental stimuli, and to re-familiarize myself with my surroundings.

And when I do notice him eventually, he’s always staring at me funnily, and I start to get the tingles, as though he knows exactly what’s been going on with me, as though he knows exactly about everything that’s happened with Lima.

            “Tell me more about your classes,” he would say.

            “Well, there’s not much to say. They are what they are; the same as always – More or less, aren’t they?” I replied. I scratched my nose saying this; I remember it being extremely itchy.

            “Anything new with English? I hear Mr Robinson particularly liked your essay on “To Kill a Mockingbird”, which, between you and I, is saying a lot.” He winked saying this but whispered the last part, a hush almost. As though Mr Robinson were about to barge into our session, furious that his name was being dragged through the halls in a negative light. In dirt and mud.

            It’s nice of Mr C to try and cheer me up. One thing I really like is his honesty. He’s promised to be one hundred per-cent with me, as long as I agree to come to the sessions for an hour, every Thursday, after lunch. There I can talk about my day, I can work on any homework I needed help finishing, or have something to eat or drink. As long as I take regular breaks to keep talking.

            I really like Mr C’s office. Maybe because it’s far from what a normal office looks like? Mr C, of course, sits in his egg chair, which is made of a light brown fabric and is very deep, with a plush cushion that is always perched against the lower back, hidden from view. It is the same color as the egg chair.

The egg chair looks extremely comfortable and whoever isn’t sitting in it is generally envious. I’m allowed to sit in it if I tell him something new, a true fact about what I’m feeling at the present moment, or something that might bother me from the past. Like Lima’s death or whatever. Somehow, he always knows when I’m not telling the truth.

He has other cool things in his office. A round, polished table in the middle, four bean bags, two across from each other in one corner, a desk, a few magazines that litter the coffee table, a water and an espresso machine. I even convinced him to add a little mini bar fridge, for soft drinks and water only, of course.

            One day, as we were talking, he asked if I was thirsty. I asked for water and so he went to the fridge and got me one. I remember thinking how cool it must be to have his job. I think that was when I started to respect him a lot more. When he started to take me seriously. When he said I could go see him alone. Without having to speak at The Talks.

            Sometimes, he will tell me about his day or general life. He isn’t married, but he’s still young for it. I asked him if he had a girlfriend or a fiancé and he just said no. He didn’t brush it off or anything either. He was honest and there was nothing more to it. I feel as though he has just gotten out of something a little serious, before starting to work at Forrest High, and so probably he’s still adjusting to life without a partner. Either way, I’ve decided not to ask or push the matter further. I respect him way too much for that now.

            “What about your extra-curricular activities? Have you been making friends how we’ve been suggesting?”

            I replied, “No, not really. I don’t really have the time to make new friends, I usually go home after school and I feel too tired to go out.”

This was a lie and I’m sure he knew. I’ve been starting to go to Forrest Hill Station more and more often after school. I stared at the ground and thought about how good it would feel to have The Express rush pass me. I shifted the thought from my mind and looked up. Mr C was writing on his little notepad. He’s started to do that more and more often now. Especially when he’s asking me about what I like to do with my spare time. I mean, does he expect me to just open up to him? Divulge my thoughts and weekly schedules for the rest of the year? No. I can’t do that. Not because I don’t want him peeving, it’s more because I don’t know what I’m doing myself. I can’t exactly tell him that I plan to go to a train station, can I?

            “And how are things at home? Do your parents and siblings spend more time with you? I know you mentioned that you wanted to spend more time with them. Can you tell me more about what you mean by, ‘get to know them better’?”

            “Well, it’s just that, even though I live with them, and they take me everywhere and stuff, even though we eat dinner together and go places together, it’s usually a silent experience.”

            There was a pause where the air hung silently, aloft, retrospective of the shift of mood in the conversation. He waited for a little to see if I had more to say. When it was apparent that I was done talking, he continued.

            “I think it’s good that you want to expand on your relationship with your family; however, I also think it’s important for you to start making friends again. I know Alec Wilbur still cares about you. He’s come to me and asked how you’ve been. He’s under the assumption that he’s not allowed to approach you. Is that true?”

            “I wouldn’t put it that way…” I started getting hot, “I just don’t think we have any interests in common.” I fiddled my thumbs together; sweaty palms brushing each other.

            “How could you lose touch with someone who has meant so much to you since childhood? Someone who has been like a brother to you? Someone you’ve grown with? Someone who still loves you?

            “We just…” I lost my tongue for a moment, distracted by his ability to make my inferno bubble.

            “Just what?” he interrupted – No. He implored.

“We just don’t like the same things anymore alright!”

I would like to say that I was shocked to discover the ferocity in my voice, but I wasn’t. And neither was Mr C. He just stared at me blankly, without blinking. Like how he always does, and when my chest stopped heaving, he opened his mouth, but not before taking a deep breath.

“It doesn’t make sense Alastair, why are you being stubborn? Why are you closing yourself from the rest of the world? Why do you not want help? I’m here to help you, not hurt you, and you keep pushing me away. We’ve come so far but whenever we start talking about people you’ve cut from your life, or what happened before the summer, you change the subject and your mind disappears for a few minutes. Where do you go to when your mind wanders? Where do you go? Where is your haven? I see exactly what’s going on with you. I see how you flinch when I ask you about Lima, or when I address anyone else who went to the party that night. Why does that bother you so much? I know exactly what happened Alastair, so tell me, where did you hide the body?”

            I snapped back to reality.

            “Alastair…?” Mr C watched me intently, his eyes puzzled. My eyes were dry from not blinking.

            “Where did your mind go just then Alastair?”

            “Nowhere,” I said. My breath was increasing and I licked my lips, realizing just how dry my mouth really was.

Mr C continued staring; I watched as I saw a flicker of hunger in his eyes. He scribbled words quickly on his little notepad and I felt my heart race. I could have sworn he was writing “unstable, mentally unhinged, killed Lima Skylar.”

“Well, that’s a wrap Alastair, unless you have something else to add, we’ll continue things next Thursday?”

I said goodbye and walked out of his office. I leaned against the wall and panted and cried and felt unimaginable pain hit my chest. It was like The Express was rushing towards my heart, repeatedly. The world got taller and I started sweating uncontrollably.

I remember thinking I was going to die in the corridors of Forrest High and never see the light of day again. It was my first panic attack.

Things are getting out of hand now. Mr C may not know what’s going on with me, but he is definitely getting on track with things and it scares me to think he may suspect the truth. From the way I talk to the way I hold myself, he’s been critically analyzing me from the beginning. It would be stupid to tell him what I know. It’s too late anyway. Because if he knows, then so will the others. I don’t know if I can trust ethics to save me on this one.

My first plan of action is to befriend Alec again. I don’t want to do it but it’s crucial I do. This way, Mr C will stop worrying about me and then things will all go back to normal and I’ll be able to forget about everything horrible that’s happened over the break, right?  

Let me know what you think.

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

October 19th, 1997

To my Darling,

It wasn’t easy but I did it. Alec has somehow accepted me back into his life, and I don’t know why he’s giving me, Alastair, another chance; but hey, I’m not complaining. It was vital that we became friends again, not just for my sake, for everyone else’s.

            I asked to go to his place on Friday, and his mom answered the door. She was genuinely surprised to see me. I should be feeling guilty for befriending Alec but I don’t. He really did hurt me and you can call me slightly immature, but I’ve been very emotional the past few days. When Alec betrayed me the strongest thing I felt wasn’t disappointment or sadness, it was anger. I’d like to say it has left me, but it really hasn’t. He wasn’t even Lima’s friend; he was mine. Which is what hurt more. 

Alec’s mom smiled a big smile; her teeth, stained with the excessive amount of coffee she drank. She kissed my cheek and confirmed my assumption that she was still a heavy smoker. I felt like giving her my dentist’s number, but I know she would have definitely been offended, and I really needed to gain access to her premises.

            She gave me a tight hug. I felt her breasts push up against my chest and when she released me they drooped a little, worn with age; no longer plump and round as I imagined them to be in her youth. She ushered me into the house and led me into the kitchen. I waited on the stool, next to the marble bench top. I heard her walk to the staircase and call Alec down. I heard him coming down the stairs. I wondered whether it was a mistake to come. Maybe he would just tell me to get fucked? Or worse, just ignore me and ask his mother what it was that she wanted? Regardless of what I thought, there wasn’t much I could do except confront him.

He came into the room and didn’t notice me. Great I thought, a waste of time. But then he did notice me. His eyes lit up, as though Christmas came early this year. His happiness turned quickly to suspicion. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows arched upwards. He spoke coolly, collected, and well reserved, as though unimpressed.

            “Alastair… what brings you here?”

            I stood from the chair and opened my mouth, but no words came out. I was transfixed and unaware of what to say next.

            I closed my mouth and thought for a moment, gulped, and said, “I just wondered if you wanted to hang out. You know, how we did. Back… Before…”

My voice trailed off and I stared at the grout in between the tiles on the floor. It was a creamy, white color and I have to say it complimented the tiles tremendously. It reminded me of the ones at Lima’s place. Just not as white. These ones were a little bit dirty.

Alec’s mom left us to be alone, picking her phone up off the bench I was standing next to and floated into the other room, practically bouncing in her footsteps.

            Alec turned to me once she left the room and when her footsteps could barely be heard, he grimaced a little, as though not sure what to say next.

“Did you want to come upstairs and watch a movie or something?”

            “Sure,” I said.

Following him upstairs was when I really started to have second thoughts about going over. Maybe it would have been better to approach him at school or when I saw him alone somewhere? I mean it could be easy to fake a stomach ache or tell him I forgot that Mom had dinner waiting for me at home. This would be a down right lie; Mom and Dad were in Town that night. They had tickets to a special screening of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. Either way, no, that was a silly idea. I knew I wouldn’t get another chance like this and it would be too obvious what I was thinking.

Alec is never really alone anyway. He’s always around all our old friends at school. He isn’t a loser like me now. I think he stopped being a loser the moment he stopped hanging out with me. When I told him I think it would be best if he stopped coming around to my place and that he shouldn’t call me or bother me in general.

            Upstairs, his room was the first door on the right; there was a small corridor to the left that had three doors as well.

            Alec’s room is, what for a better word, normal. It had a single bed in the corner, posters on the walls from his favorite movies; nothing from the last ten years either. The bedside table had a lamp and next to that was a tallboy with a bunch of interesting artefacts on top. Mostly he has souvenirs from the different cities around the world. There were snow globes from Tokyo, Melbourne, New York, Dubai, Paris and the more recently acquired, London. I think that’s all of them.

There was a picture of him during his younger years, with another boy, their arms around each other’s necks, laughing. Their faces looked like they could light up New York. The real one, not the one in the snow globe. They were innocent, they were happy; having fun, without a care in the world. It was pure, a real delight. It was a love that couldn’t be bought or forced. It was priceless. They could have been brothers. They really could have. I know they aren’t though because I have the same picture in my bedroom.

I picked up a toy basketball off the ground, bouncing it up and down, exploring the rest of the room, as though I hadn’t been there in years. In truth, it has only been about two months. There was a basketball hoop to go with the ball, that hung on the back of his door, a desk on the other side of the room; I noticed he had started writing his essay on Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” for English. I have already finished the essay but didn’t mention it to him. I was there on other business.

            His desk was the usual interesting. It was glass and there was a white plastic bin underneath it. On the desk itself was the essay, which he began in messy scribbles; a small pencil case, a water bottle, a calculator, a diary and a computer monitor.

I glanced at his monitor. It appeared as though he had begun typing a letter, and unfortunately got cut short. I didn’t want to get too close in case I overstepped my welcome and he got protective. Just when I had begun to read the first line, something about how he was hurting, his screen saver popped up and I saw that he still had a photo of him and me from a few months ago.

Above his desk, there was a board that was half whiteboard, half cork, with a calendar on the cork side. Did he seem to be counting upwards, with little numbers etched into the upper right corners of the boxes: the days of summer?    

            There was a heap of clothing on the stool next to his bed, and some dirty underwear and socks that littered the floor, of which he kicked under his bed hastily in the hope that I wouldn’t see. As though I were Mr Rutherford coming to inspect the cleanliness of his room. I pretended not to notice regardless.

Across from his bed, there was a built-in wardrobe, with sliding doors that were glass. I glanced a look at my reflection; Alec was watching me curiously.

I took a seat on his bed. I reached for the remote from his bedside table and flicked the TV on. The standby light flashed for a good seven seconds. And boy, were they a long seven seconds.

            There was a long pause before either of us said anything to one another. The TV turned on to the last channel Alec was watching: Channel Seven; reported the local news so it didn’t surprise me that Alec was last watching that. His life either got boring over summer, or he was so busy having fun he hadn’t used it in a while.

            I decided with the latter alternative.

            “So...” I said after a while (Alec had opted to sit on his study chair and shoot hoops with the ball I dropped on the floor).

He threw the ball and missed. He turned to me, as though I was speaking in a foreign language.

“…What’s been happening?” I finished.

            “Not much I suppose.” It was the driest conversation starter and it made me want to claw my eyes out with a fork.

            “That’s good I gue—”

            “What do you want, Alastair?” He cut me off harshly. It wasn’t like Alec to be like this towards me. This isn’t how I remembered him. This wasn’t how I expected things to go. Maybe he was hurt more than I thought? I wanted to remind him that I was hurt too.

            “I want to apologize” I started faintly, “I want to apologize for being rude, and selfish, and a…a…a—”

            “A dick? An asshole? A shit friend?”

            “Yes! Yes, I was all of that and now I realize what a crap friend I’ve been, not only to you but also to everyone. I just haven’t been myself since... Well, you know.”

            “No Alastair, I really don’t know, because you cut me out of your life; me, along with everyone else.” 

“I know Alec, but–”

He stood up.

“Do you though? Do you realize how much that hurt me? I don’t think you do. Don’t you dare say you know or that you understand or that you’re here to make up for it, save it. You know what hurts the most Alastair? You made it all seem so easy… All those years of friendship, of being brothers, not by blood, but by heart and choice, and how that could be so easily overthrown by your pure selfishness, all for a girl… That’s what hurts the most, Alastair. Not that you stopped coming over or inviting me to your place. Or even when you stopped sitting with me at lunch. I got over the fact that you didn’t want me in your life, but then you didn’t even want me coming to your Dad’s funeral on the break. Why? And still, even after all that, I still cared about you, even after all that, especially after all that, because I knew you were grieving. But you aren’t grieving, Alastair. Not anymore. You’re angry and I can tell something has been bothering you.

“I’m not angry,” I told him quietly. 

It’s true. I haven’t been nearly as angry as how I have been usually in the past.

“I know it hurts, Alastair. But we’ve all moved on. She’s going to be put to rest now. You need to stop with this obsession. Alastair, I know you probably don’t want to hear this but she’s gone, and when you learn to let go of this anger you’re holding onto, you’ll begin to see that things can and will get better. It isn’t fair to everyone else. Your Mom still comes around sometimes. She’s worried about you. She says you hardly leave your room when you’re not at school.”

He was properly crying by now. I wanted to apologize and keep saying sorry but I knew it wouldn’t make anything better.

Once, when I was at home alone, I heard Mom crying in her bedroom like that. It was a soft cry. I felt like a truck had hit me. There’s only one thing worse than hearing your mom cry and that’s seeing your mom cry, and if you don’t believe me, then good on you. I mean it. I don’t want anyone to have to see his or her mom cry. Not even my worst enemy. Not even you.

I found out that she was crying because her brother had died. He lived overseas in Germany. She wasn’t particularly close with him because of the distance, but at the end of the day, he was still her brother right? It was just she and he. No other siblings. And now it’s just she. Both of my grandparents on Mom’s side died when Mom was a teenager. Mom’s never really explained it properly to me but I think they had an accident on the way home from a New Year’s Eve party. They died instantly. They loved each other very much from what I’ve heard so at least they were together when it happened.

I feel sad for Mom because it’s just us now. Dad wasn’t a great man, but Mom still loved him, even after everything, so I was sad for her when he died a few weeks ago.

She cried so hard that at one point I thought she stopped breathing. No sound escaped from the room. I walked to the door to check on her and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, with her head tilted downwards; her hands, gripping the edge of the bed, as though the coverings were what held her to her bed; to Earth, her will to live.

I’ve never met my uncle on Mom’s side before, so it was hard for me to grieve the loss of someone that hasn’t had much of an impact in my life. Apart from the yearly birthday Euro’s I got sent, I only saw him in photos with Mom from their youth. My only regret is not approaching Mom and comforting her when her brother died. I was too young back then. I just returned to my room and kept playing my video games.

Alec collapsed into his armchair and put his hands in his lap and cried into them. How Mom cried when her brother died. I watched him struggle to produce consistent sound. The best he managed was broken cries. I stood up, walked over to him and put my arm around him, soothing his back.

“You’re absolutely right, Alec. I could come up with a thousand reasons why I think it would be okay to do what I did to you, but not one of them would be okay because it’s not okay. Alec... No… Look at me.” I pushed his shoulders back so that he would lift his head up. “I’m a selfish idiot and I have no excuse for you.”

Alec didn’t answer me. He just grabbed me by the waist and cried into my stomach.

I know it’s practically Unorthodox, but this is how Alec and I became friends again. I had to win him over. There’s no other way. I mean, I obviously care about his feelings and stuff, but like I said, it’s vital we become friends again because befriending Alec is just one of the things I need to do to start functioning better.

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

October 21st, 1997

To my Darling,

I am Alec’s best friend again. Too bad Alec isn’t mine.

            I’ve been hanging out more and more with him recently and things are starting to get better, with my reputation being back to normal, or almost normal at least. 

            News travels fast in Forrest Hill. But at Forrest High, you might as well sign your own grave if you ever get caught doing something you shouldn’t. Alec and I sat together at lunch on Monday. People stared at us like they didn't know if it was meant to be a joke. A joke that they weren’t let in on and they wanted to know what on earth would make Alec befriend me all over again, especially after everything.

            “Ignore them,” Alec said as he attacked his lasagna. “People will talk, it’s expected. Just don’t give them a reason to.” A fly landed on the end of his fork. He shooed it off but the fly was persistent.

            “I know Alec, but sometimes I can’t help it. I feel like everyone’s staring at me,” which was true.

            “Come off it Alastair, they’re clearly all staring at my new shoes.”

I actually laughed out loud because Alec was wearing his old Vans to school, just like he has since the eighth grade. I turned to the table next to us and I saw more eyes gaping at us. My smile disappeared and Alec was too preoccupied swatting the fly to notice.

            I stared at my own lasagna, losing my appetite by the second.

            “What are they all staring at?” came a voice from across the table. It was a girl’s voice. She didn’t look familiar to me because it turns out she was the new girl. She looked like an Amanda who wanted to be named Sam. She had short black hair that had orange running through it, with large, circular rimmed glasses. She wore black clothes and black tights. Yeah, I think she was wearing high black boots too. I couldn’t wait for her to get up, so I risked looking like a pervert, by pretending to drop my fork. Sure enough, she was wearing black, tight high boots.

            She introduced herself as Emma Leister, but I think she was lying. Something, maybe about the way she spoke, or the way she played with her fringe before she was about to speak, made me think she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

            Emma is new to town. Her mom and dad are divorced and she blames her mom for it. She calls her mom an alcoholic, a pageant enthusiast and her dad an inspiration of what not to become. I think she stays with her dad because he’s her main source of income. They are always moving, so she joked and said that she might not bother unpacking this time around. She spent five days in the last town before her dad got whisked away to a new job site.

I didn’t ask what he does. I’ve always hated asking people personal questions. It’s something about the awkwardness before they answer, as though you don’t know whether or not you’re about to hit their weak spot or a topic they don’t particularly like talking about.

Emma is eccentric and lively; has kind brown eyes, pencilled eyebrows and her headband made her look innocent and tacky. She enjoys death metal but prefers to call it the songs of the angels. I don’t understand what she means by that. Alec likes her too I think. Not because she is mildly attractive but because I think he thinks he might actually have a chance with her.

            Alec and I would always go to parties together last year. Megan Flutter had the first big one. I think everyone went to it because it was the first of the year. That was the weekend her parents were out of town. I remember it vividly.

Whenever Alec liked someone, I would be the one to approach her first and talk Alec up, then introduce him, as though he were a celebrity that had to be snatched up. I felt like an auctioneer. It was at this party that Alec had kissed a girl that he liked and I remember him telling me that it was the first girl he had kissed. Junior year and he had the confidence to tell me that. He was unconditionally thankful and I think that’s when we developed mutual respect for each other.

When I remembered this in the cafeteria, I wanted to bring it up, to make Alec feel embarrassed in front of Emma. But I didn’t. Because I knew if I did, I’d probably be the one that feels worse.

            Some days it’s easy to flick off the switch. My emotions I mean. Other days I just feel like I’m so absorbed in them that I feel like I’m drowning in the memories of my past. And it makes me so angry all the time. I’m practically ready to explode or do something reckless.

            Emma told me she had heard a rumor about me. She called me brave. Said that there weren’t that many people out there that could attempt what I did. She pulled her black arm sleeves down as she said this.

Emma is now my friend. Or sort of is. I guess that makes me sort of less angry and less depressed. I don’t feel as lonely anymore. That’s a good sign, right?

It’s weird, some days now I wake up and think today is going to be my day; that I’m going to summon it, you know? Make my own happiness. I don’t know, it’s as though there’s some unknown force giving me the strength to do what I do. 

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

October 27th, 1997

To my Darling,

Alec is kind of okay I guess, and so is Emma. We generally spend time the three of us. But last weekend Alec had a wedding that he forgot about and so it was just Emma and I. I thought it would be awkward to cancel. Coincidental even. We went to the beach. I drove us. Yes, I just passed my driver’s test can you believe it? Thank you, Jesus!

            It was a two hour and thirteen-minute drive to the Spiller Mann Lighthouse, which is at the Back Beach. No one really goes there. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was fifty-one degrees that day. It was really windy when we got there and lightly spitting. Emma wanted to go on the Pier so we did. We sat under cover there and watched the ocean’s water splash onto the Pier.

            Emma got out a packet of cigarettes, Marlboro’s, and asked me if I want one. I said no thanks because I stopped smoking two weeks ago.

            Emma and I smoked cigarettes for a while until we smelt strongly on Virginian tobacco. She told me how her dad was thinking about moving towns again and how she was trying to convince him to stay, at least until after New Year.

            “Speaking of which, what are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?” I looked at her awkwardly and said I’m not sure yet. She laughed a loud laugh and pulled out another cigarette, igniting it and taking a deep drag. “Oh Alastair, is there anything you won’t believe?” She made me feel ridiculous for believing Christmas was so soon.

If it were anyone else, I probably would have wanted to hit them across the head and dump their body off the Pier. But she’s okay, so of course, I didn’t do that!

            “But no, seriously, what are you doing for Christmas this year? My Dad is going away for the week and I will most definitely have a free house. Would you and Alec dare to spend a day with me?”

She flicked her hair and the wind caught it perfectly. The sun’s brilliance illuminated her highlights and she looked like magnificent mannequin; frozen in time, she looked like a beautiful, kind critter.

“I’m not sure yet. I usually spend it with my family,” I told her.

“Oh, you have to come! Please, it will be brilliant. I’m going to spend the Eve decorating so you have to come! Otherwise… otherwise, it will all be for nothing. Oh please, Alastair, you’ll come won’t you?”

            I lost the game before I even opened my mouth. I don’t know what it is my Darling, but I think I may actually be happy. “Of course I’ll come, how could I not?” I played along with her pretty game, enjoying myself thoroughly. She took another drag and passed the cigarette to me. We continued talking about the hats we were going to buy, the elf ears and of course we couldn’t forget the tinsel or –

            “A Christmas tree!” she exclaimed, “I’ve never had one…” The conversation’s mood shifted from stimulating to slightly awkward.

Emma was opening her second packet by now. I remember thinking; surely we hadn’t gone through the full first already? I stopped asking for drags but she insisted I join her. High on tobacco and finding it hard to not cough whenever I inhaled the tobacco, she pushed the matter and asked me to explain, in vivid detail, what it was like to wake up on Christmas morning with presents under my tree.

This would be technically my first Christmas in a long time ago, so I did my very best to guide her into the direction of what I had seen in the movies, and what I hoped Christmas would be like this year.

We were onto our third cigarette from the second deck when it starting raining heavily and we ran back to my car. We sat inside and shook dangerously.

            “I think I have pneumonia,” I said to her, teeth chattering. I hadn’t noticed how cold it was that day until we were inside the car.

            “Dude, don’t be ridiculous, I’m sure it’s only hypothermia,” her teeth chattered.

We stared at each other and then burst out laughing; laying back in our seats, I cranked the volume high, matching the pellets of rain that hit the car. The sheep fur on the car seats, along with the heater, had us dry within minutes. I turned the heater off after a while, and then slowly, the volume down. At one point all I could hear was the thunder and then we saw a flash of light that made Emma swear loudly.

            We held hands, listening to the world get angry and then angrier with us for destroying our lungs.

            It was a good day.

 

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

 

November 11th, 1997

To my Darling,

My watch says it’s about 3:00 p.m.

I think you should stay away for a while. Don’t take it personally; I just don’t think that you being around is the best thing for me. Or yourself. I don’t want you to think that I’ve moved onto better things, or that I’ll forget you, okay? No. Because you are my best friend and nothing will ever change that, okay? This will probably be my last letter, so I’m going to make this one count.

            Mr C has given me his personal number in case I ever need to contact him, or if I just want to talk to someone. Twenty-four hours, seven days a week he is there for me. I wonder if he gets paid to provide these kinds of services? He is like my very own hotline. He has laid off for the time being, especially since I’ve re-kindled my friendship with Alec. He was particularly surprised when I told him that we are best friends again, shocked even.

            “That’s wonderful Alastair. I’m really happy for you. May I ask, what has brought this on?”

            “I don’t know. I think I just realized I need my friend back. I’m ready to move past everything that’s been holding me back. I’m ready to leave Lim—” I almost couldn’t bring myself to say her name. “I’m ready to move on from Lima,” I finished.

I wonder whether he ever picked up on anything? Not that it matters if he has or hasn’t. You know, Mr C has been suspended until further notice. A student let slip that Mr C had alcohol in his office mini bar and that he was supplying it to his students to “de-stress”. Whether he did or didn’t isn’t what’s important. It’s the fact he had alcohol and anyone could have gotten a hold of it, even the students.

            I know, devastating. I hope he doesn’t take it as a criticism, but I think it was for the best. I think he knew way too much.

            For Halloween, my cousin, Julie Secrevela had her usual party. Alec and I were invited, but I told Emma she could come too. She really didn’t want to go but I told her it’s usually really fun and so she came in the end.

Julie has a large house, with a driveway that curves like a semi-circle.

Dad always said that people who have laneways like that are just as happy to see people come, as they are to go. He never got on well with his brother because Julie’s dad always listened to Julie’s mom, and she’s a nutcase. She always went against Dad’s views. Her favorite hobby is embarrassing children who aren’t her own in front of their parents, including me. 

When you walk in there is usually a large family portrait of Julie and her parents. The portrait when she still had her freckles and braces, pre-nose job. The little girl’s hair is pushed back with a thin, black headband and her beam, her beam is wondrous. Ask that girl to take the same photo now and I’ll laugh along with you.

There were people everywhere. People playing beer pong, people greened out, people drinking alcohol, people making out and people just dancing and socializing. It was a good party, with Halloween decorations everywhere.

We were going to go as the three blind mice, but Alec could only find a costume for him and me, but wouldn’t help find a costume for Emma and I thought that was just rude, so I dropped the idea and said we should go solo.

            I couldn’t find Julie for a while, and when I did, I asked her where her parents were and she told me they were at their lodge for a few days.

She poured herself a glass of wine and then threw Alec and I each a beer. I thought it was rude that she hadn’t asked Emma if she wanted a glass of wine or a beer.

I asked Emma if she wanted my beer but she said it was okay because she doesn’t drink.

Julie dragged us over to a group of her friends who were in a circle on the carpet playing “spin the bottle”.

“The rules are simple. Spin the bottle and kiss the lucky person that the tip lands on. Boys with girls, girls with girls, boys with boys. You in?”

Alec looked at me and smiled cheekily, before taking a seat next to Julie. I sat opposite them, between a girl and a guy who I recognized from school.

Alec and I joined in late, so Julie told us we had to go first. I told Alec he could have the honors. He spun the bottle and it landed on Julie. She screeched a high-pitched scream.

Alec said, “Huh! Finally, you get to have your burning wish fulfilled. Come here…”

There were whoops and cheers leading up to their kiss, followed by claps and hoots from the guys. Alec chortled and rolled the bottle over to me. With the tip facing me, I spun the bottle. It was a horrible spin; it did a whole 180-degree turn. I turned red. It landed on Alec.

“Rules are rules, boys,” Julie said, snickering to herself.

Alec took the situation lightly and stood on his feet and walked across the circle; bending on his knees, he took my face into his outstretched hands and pulled me in for a sweet, soft kiss that lasted longer than his one with Julie. At least to me, it did. There were more howls and when Alec released me, I felt as though I could light up all the lights in Julie’s house.

“Come on Alec, give someone else a chance,” I heard someone say.

Alec returned to his seat saying, “Sorry, I can’t help it Alastair’s such a great kisser,” winking at me and putting his arm around Julie. If it was possible I torched even more fiercely. Then there came a voice to my ear, which was cold and unfriendly.

“Hope you’re having fun, I’m leaving.”

I waited to see the next person begin to spin the bottle and then turned to see the back of Emma leaving the room. I completely forgot about her. I got up quickly and followed her, but she was quick. I caught up with her outside.

“Emma, wait! Where are you going?”

“I’m going home. I should never have come to this stupid party. I don’t belong here, can’t you see Alastair?”

Her comment annoyed me because it’s not that she was not welcomed, it was that she didn’t want to join in.

“Maybe if you joined in once in a while you wouldn’t feel like that,” I said to her.

Emma just stared at me, mouth slightly open, as though registering the echoic vibrations in the air a few seconds in delay. She looked darker all of a sudden. Not because of the lighting, but something else. There was a hint of truth and pain behind that luminous stare.

But there was also a fragment of reality in what I had said, but she didn’t deserve that, not when she clearly didn’t feel like she could be part of a bigger collection.

“So I should change to fit in with your group, is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant—“

“No, don’t apologize, you said it because you meant it. And you know what? I don’t blame you. I should join in a lot more, but unfortunately, it’s a lot harder for me than it is for you. So I’m going to make it easy for you. I was going to tell you tomorrow, after this awesome party, but there’s no point in me waiting anymore.”

“Waiting for what?” I begged.

“I’m leaving, any day now. Dad accepted a new job in Phoenix. It’s going to be permanent he reckons.”

“Really? That’s wonderful Emma, the part about it being permanent I mean. It’s going to be horrible with you gone.”

 “Yeah, thanks. It will be nice to not have a constant change, to have people I know I can trust, a place to call home.”

“Emma, Forrest Hill is your home and always will be. I hope tonight doesn’t change any of that. And you can always come back if things get too much, or just to see me. I know I’ll definitely be coming to visit you.”

            “I wanted to talk to you about that. I think it’s best if you stay away for a while. I promise it’s not about you or tonight. It’s nothing to do with that. I just know it will be hard with the distance. Trust me, take it from me, this kind of stuff never works. It’s best we part as friends. I have your number. I’ll call you when I can.”

            “What do you mean? Don’t say that, you know how much I care about you. Of course, I’m going to keep talking to you, even when you’re gone.”

            She walked over to me, and, taking my hands, she reached up, off her tall black boots and kissed my cheek. Her cheek was slightly wet.

            She started to walk away, in between the flock of cars, to leave. I ran after her, grabbing her arm, pulling her back. She twisted and faced me. Her eyes were filling with tears. I kissed her again, on the lips, this time passionately, because I wanted her to know that I really would miss her.

            Then she was crying.

“You’re my best friend,” I told her.

            “I know Al, I know.”

I released her.

            It was the first time she had called me Al. There’s only one person who ever called me that and when she turned to walk away again I didn’t stop her.

            _I think I hear an announcement somewhere, something about an arrival soon._

She left me there to my protrusive thoughts.

I heard the front door open and turned to see a silhouette leave the house. I heard Alec shout my name, really loudly. I crouched, hidden from the light of the front porch, in the traffic of cars. Questions provoked my mind, like what I would say to him when he did find me. He continued to shout my name as I pressed my back to the silver Mercedes parked near the front of the driveway. I started crying; everything felt too much you know?

Alec continued to call my name, somewhere in the distance.

My eyes swelled and I felt a funny warmth run down my cheeks, unstoppable. I could barely see out of my eyes. I turned to my right as I heard the crunch of someone sitting next to me on the gravel driveway.

Emma had returned to me. I knew she couldn’t stay away from me. She could never truly leave me. I reached out for Emma’s familiar face and kissed her once again, finding hard, zealous lips.

They kissed my lips back and I remember feeling how good it felt. As though that was what I’d been waiting for. As though I had just figured out something important.

I have forgiven myself for Lima’s death since then. Stopped punishing myself even. I know now that it was not my fault, but is it crazy and unbelievable to say that the kiss told me so?

It made me feel safe and it made me feel loved again. Like how my Darling once made me feel. As though life suddenly had to mean again.

There was no more black and white; I finally saw the world in color again.

I released the kiss once more; eyes overflowing; the tears, sinuously and seamlessly running down my face. I wondered if I looked pathetic but I don’t think I cared enough.

Then I looked up and smiled, sniffling like a helpless child.

Alec’s stare was something to behold. He was careful and inquisitorial. I felt perplexed that his face showed nothing but generosity and hope. He made me want to believe him; he made me want to trust him. Reopen myself back up to him and everyone else. But the truth is I can’t have that, no matter how much I want it. Not after I saw what he is really like.

_That’s definitely an announcement I hear._

I must go now. It’s almost 3:28 p.m.

 

Thanks for everything,

Alastair

**Author's Note:**

> The manuscript is complete and further parts will be uploaded in the future. Thanks for reading my work.


End file.
